


Learning curves.

by AddyPlantagenet



Series: Life and Times [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 07:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7882282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AddyPlantagenet/pseuds/AddyPlantagenet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some shorts and possibly long ass drabbles about my problem children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning curves.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had these written for a while but I never typed them up for some reason. Ah well.. into the fray!!

                **In which some things bear repeating...**

 

 

                It’s not that Oliver doesn’t love her; he loves her more than he’s ever loved anyone outside of his family. It’s not that he doesn’t respect her; Oliver is well aware of the caliber of female that he somehow tricked into giving him a chance. It’s just that he is aware of her limitations and how they translate to their life together. Felicity is a brilliant, warm-hearted, sharp-minded woman full of life and good humor.  She has discernment, common sense and not a small amount of book sense. She also has a nearly unhealthy obsession with nail polish and a borderline pathological need for WI-FI.

                It is an additional fact that her organizational skills only extend to things she actually cares about.  In Starling City she’d run a tight ship with the help of her trusty tablet.  Her clothing, shoes, skin/hair care and accessories are all organized first by season and then by color groups. In all honesty, when he doesn’t find it terrifying, he admires the efficiency of the system.  He even let her reorganize his clothes according to her specifications. The kitchen however is another matter. As far as he can tell,  if left to her own devices it would be a toaster, pop-tarts and a coffee maker within a swirling vortex of entropy.

                Weirdly enough it turned out that Oliver had an actually skill for cooking as well as sex, killing and torturing, so that is where he plants his metaphorical flag. Whenever they stop for longer than a few days he books a suite, goes shopping and sets up the kitchen. He makes sure all the food groups are represented, along with their favorites and that they are put away with their respective homes. Everything is sorted by expiration date with the latest date towards the back and tagged accordingly. The cupboards are organized by sweet to savory and then by height with the labels rotated outward so all of them are identifiable at a glance.

                He could always tell when she’d been in the kitchen because nothing was back where it was supposed to be. The first time she’d messed with his system in the kitchen he’d been surprised at the depth of his annoyance. They’d actually fought about it. After the make up sex they’d come to an understanding about boundaries. He didn’t ask for much, but he had two hard and set rules when it came to co-habitation: Don’t use his giant fluffy towel (there were eight other one’s for the love of the sweet baby Jesus), and don’t fuck with his kitchen.

                So it was a bit of a surprise when he opened a kitchen cabinet in their latest extended stay suite, and was immediately assailed with two bags of pasta and a jar of raspberry preserves that he was pretty damn sure hadn’t been there yesterday. After three minutes of deep breathing, during which he noticed the shower of crumbs on the counter and the dirty knife in the sink, he was calm enough to call her name. It still sounded sharp, but considering he was one smart comment away from putting her over his knee he counted it as a win.

                Within a few minutes the love of his life came padding out from the balcony in shorts and a T-shirt that had a multicolored Tardis on the front, and a quizzical expression on her face.

                “Were you looking for something in the kitchen before?”            

                “I wanted toast and jam.” She replied coming around the long counter stand in front of him.

                He held up the jar that he’d barley managed to save from certain death. “This?”

                “Yup,” she smiled and nodded.

                His eyes squinted in suspicion. Was she trying to ‘cute’ her way out of this? He should never have made her aware of her super power over him. There were rules. Civilization had rules damn it. “This goes in the cupboard next to the microwave, not in the one over the middle of the counter.”

                “Does it really matter?” She frowned in irritation and tilted her head in that maddening way that said _Is this really what you want to spend your time on?_  
                He took a quick fortifying breath against a fresh wave of irritation. He was an adult. “Yes Felicity it matters, and you can’t stuff the things that you displaced inside, shut the door, and pretend like it’s not going to be a problem for someone else later.”

                “When was it a problem for you?”

                “Ten minutes ago when I was trying to make dinner for my girlfriend and got attacked by non-perishables.”

                Her mouth twisted against a smile as her cheeks flushed and she gave a quick sheepish nod. “Right.  Sorry about that.” She reached out and ran her hands up his stomach.

Yup she was definitely trying to distract him.

                “I don’t need you to be sorry,” he said, trapping her pesky fingers in his. “I need you to use the system. If you can’t remember where things go then leave them on the counter and I’ll put it away, or just ask me to get it for you.”

                “It’s a kitchen Oliver, not the Library of Alexandria. Unclench.”

                His eyebrow shot up and he felt his patience slipping away. “Remember when we had that talk about the kitchen being my place? My zen place?”  
                “Like my tech.”

                “Yes, like your tech stuff. You are ruining my zen space Felicity and it is fucking annoying.”

                She pouted and he shook his head. “I stay away from your tech stuff and you stay out of my kitchen. That was the deal. Agreed?”

                “Agreed.”

                “Thank you.” He let out an irritated huff and then yanked her against him for a hug that he probably needed more than she did. “I love you very much.”

                “I know.”

                “Good.” He pressed two kisses against the sunny hair that always smelt like the rosemary and mint shampoo she got from Trader Joes.

                “Oliver?”

                He closed his eyes and breathed her in, feeling all the irritation drain out of him. “Yeah baby?”

                “I want Oreos…”


End file.
